


Oh, The Places You'll Go

by TheRavenDeer



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Drama, Multi, OC's backstories, Random & Short, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-10-29 19:25:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17814056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavenDeer/pseuds/TheRavenDeer
Summary: Random short stories that I create for every character I play with on Skyrim gone out of my control. Each short story is different, as it can a be a single scene or a summary of this OC's entire life, depending. Don't know why I publish this but I just... do.





	1. Freyja

The poorly illuminated room is completely silent except for the small cracks from the dozens of candles decorating the walls. The festivities ended a few hours before, and by her request, Ulfric and Freyja are the only ones who still remain. The cold seeps from the stone walls directly into their clothes, but she cannot feel anything but the rosy warmth that covers most of her face. After the petition, the air around them shifted into something approaching uncomfortable, each of them because of different reasons.

Then, when the man is reassured what he heard was not a lapse in hearing, he answers. “What you say is foolish. I have never thought of that for anyone, not even you.”

Freyja, expecting a completely different outcome after the happiness they had shared during the victorious battle exclaims. “…what? Did you… Did you mean that?”

“I did. I thought it was clear from the very beginning.”

“But you don’t understand! This... wasn’t supposed to happen! We started this journey together! We were both in that cart, both about to get executed by the empire, we were both saved after Alduin’s appearance! Can’t you see? We need to do this together, all the way.”

He shakes his head, a little disappointed. “The only thing I see is you trying to force me into a role born purely from your imagination. This is my battle, and you were just another soldier to me. A really special one, I admit, but nothing more. You ask me to consider you an equal and don’t realize the absurdness of it.”

“What absurdness?! My god… You call this a product of my imagination, the fact that the two of us are the only ones apart from the greybeards who possess the Thu’um in this age? The fact that we both are the heroes of our people? And what is your battle?” She laughs bitterly at this, unaware of the friendship that is slowly agonizing since the moment she confessed her desire to rule Skyrim together. “You are truly blind if you think the empire’s corruption is the only known enemy of Skyrim or that you can do everything by yourself. The roots of evil are everywhere on this land and this is not just a battle for the throne! It is a battle for peace! You don’t care about the dragons at all, do you? Your only desire is to be a king while you neglect the plights of our brothers and sisters. This wasn’t supposed to happen…”

Ulfric becomes agitated and moves in a way reminiscent of a pacing predator who is growing tired of accommodating the younger clan members. He purposefully takes out his sword and leaves it at the nearest table after taking a deep breath.

“You call me blind, the one who is focused everywhere and nowhere at once. The battles you speak of are not related to mine. The reason I’ve been fighting all these years, over dozens and dozens of my brothers’ bodies, is the liberation of Skyrim. The people have risen against the oppression of the invaders that are deeply engraved in our land, and they fight for _freedom_. You can’t ask these soldiers to fight _your_ fight, because they have their own, and so do I.” He tries to reach towards her, hoping his actions would speak clearer than his words, trying to defuse the discussion before something breaks irreparably. She rears back, looking at him like she can’t believe the person in front of her right now is the same one who saved her from the vast darkness of the world and showed her things worth fighting for.

“What you call _my_ _fight_ may very well cause the whole world to collapse into chaos. What use is conquering a city of corpses in flames? When you gain all of it back only to lose it forever what then? You know the Thalmor are somehow responsible for the return of the dragons. That’s why I’ve been fighting alongside you all these years! Because to end the threat of the dragons, driving the empire away was a necessity!”

“This is the closest I’ve ever been of achieving my dream, _our dream_ , everyone’s dream of driving the empire’s control away from our lands. You’ve been right there beside me, sharing this dream! If you have been fighting alongside me then why oppose me now?”

“I... don’t know. I felt-, no, I _knew_ , in my heart, that I wanted to be with you, to fight with you to the end. And I knew you’d _see_ that the wounds of Skyrim are more than just the empire’s money and corruption. That what we are meant to fight is larger than the legion, or the dragons... It’s the bandits accosting our people, the thieves, the assassins, the necromancers, the witches, the vampires…”

“All of those things are not my responsibility. Those are insignificant to our cause. Why can’t you understand?” He sits down on the chair directly to his right, as if he could already feel the world weighting him down. “There is something more you want to say, is there not?”

Freyja lets the silence take care of the situation a bit longer. Her hands are trembling. They’re used to feeling the grip on her sword whenever she’s facing a problem, not this stillness, this calm enemy that pierces deeper than any arrow ever could. Aggression overcomes all other feelings inside her before this threat.

“Yes! I love you! And I thought you loved me! I thought all those things we share that brought us together meant something! I thought we were _meant to be_! NOW YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE I’M DELUSIONAL?! A-and now that you have what you’ve always wanted you just... throw me away? Say there is no place for me at your side anymore? How can you?” The tears that fall down her cheeks should be red, like the wine they drank all dinner, or like the fury and betrayal clouding her thoughts. Instead, they’re transparent, like crystals glittering by the flame of the candles, and so much more visible because of that. These useless drops that paint her misery and seal her fate.

Ulfric speaks now, and it seems to hurt him in the same way an avoidable casualty felt like during the war. “Skyrim needs a king. And there is only one throne.”


	2. Fenris I

Everything after he hits his head against the ground feels like an out of body experience. Being moved around, floating? or not, more like carried around because there’s hands touching his fur, not gentle but hurried. He’s so tired he can’t support his own head upright. His hands are restricted, rough and tight, ropes. He passes out at least 4 times, a few minutes most times but the last is longer, can’t know exactly by how much.

He’s on a carriage, that much is made clear by the smell of the horses and the people around him. The swaying movement of his seat can also be a good indicator. But most importantly, he can’t remember anything except his own name, for some reason. He gets up, intent on gaining more information before he panics himself into passing out again.

Well fuck.

Turns out he’s a prisoner in a carriage led by some kind of guards, and the final destination is public beheading. There’s no logic in not remembering anything about his past life but still having a general understanding of how the world works, but logic is a scarce resource in the pseudo-medieval fantasy world he lives in. He thinks of trying to escape, instincts flooding his mind with possible routes, but he’s naked. He’s wearing some kind of rags as cover, true, which must have been the guard’s work because the other prisoners are wearing an exact copy, but he doesn’t have a single fucking knife, not even a pair of boots that would add a little bit more armor, nothing to defend himself with except his claws. It’d be suicidal. A single arrow to the knee from some guard and he’d be dying sooner than necessary.

So he waits. He ignores masterfully whatever conversation the other prisoners are trying to start with him and concentrates on looking out at his surroundings. If only a cave bear or something would distract the guards enough... The smell of even more people hits his nose as they near the town. Surprisingly he can’t smell another khajiit around and that’s strange. What’s he doing here then? All alone? Before he can think about it more, they’ve come to a stop and must step down from the carriage. A less intelligent guy gets to die by a single arrow for trying to escape, somehow performing a live demonstration of his earlier prediction. They ask about him, he wasn’t expected. It only adds to the massive mystery surrounding his current situation even more. They’re going to kill him anyway, because why not. By this point something extremely rare and extraordinary would need to happen to allow him escape.

The wooden platform is hot and sticky from the fresh blood, but the smell is even worse. The corpse smells bad, but these people... turns out they don’t groom themselves at all. It’s time to die but he can’t... He can’t miss anything at all. There’s no regrets, no unfulfilled quests. He’s a blank space that not even survival instinct can fill on its own. Then there’s the fucking dragon.

Even dependent on his unreliable amnesic mind, he knows dragons are not normal. Coincidences like that don’t exist, so it must mean something, something bigger than he can imagine. Even as he runs for his life, he feels bad for the innocent people of this town. It probably is his fault, if involuntarily, but he can’t do anything about them being burned or killed by their own homes collapsing on themselves.

One of the prisoners leads him to a building, which is a good place as any to hide from a dragon. The other prisoner is there, and he speaks confidently but smells of fear and uncertainty the same as everyone around. He chooses to follow them until he finds some basic armor and can venture into the wild on his own. If he’s going to find some answers about himself in this alien land, he’s got to be prepared. Burning flesh, fire, dirt, fills his nostrils and confuses his sense of direction too much. He’s stressed and his tails keeps going side to side behind him. They enter a building and everything slows down. The sounds and smells are muffled, making everything much easier for him. There’s a moment when they find other people who suddenly start attacking them with the intention to kill. He can’t understand what about him compels people to end him so much. Also, it’s fucking madness that these people want to keep killing each other when there’s a _dragon_ outside massacring an entire town.

In the end necessity forces him to fight, which he is not actually bad at, until they die. They don’t ask for mercy or surrender, they keep fighting until they physically can’t anymore. The blood taints his fur and his new clothes until it can’t be distinguished from the grime. His companion acts like this is normal, which explains why he was a prisoner in the first place. He thinks of changing his clothes again but all the ones available are in the same dirty state. A new room means another enemy left broken on the ground, and he can no longer tell friend from foe when they keep having the same faces and smell exactly the same.

When he resurfaces outside for the first time, alone, the wind on his battered body is sweet and gentle. His eyes, though, have tasted victory and survival far too much to give it up now. The people of Skyrim will have to deal with his quest for answers however they can, because Fenris will not let his time here go to waste. He will become the biggest and most powerful enemy this land has ever known. He’ll be worse than war, worse than an army of dragons. Feared by every creature that crosses his path. By the time he finally dies there won’t be a single soul left to share his tale.


	3. Sua Dris

“You should rest for a while now... try to start a family or something and settle down peacefully. You deserve it.”

Rikke looks at Sua Dris like she might break from a little push. It’s already been a week since the final battle that secured absolute victory for the Empire, and she’s spent every day sitting at the winking skeever and not talking to anyone.  It’s actually really funny, that the feared Fire Goddess, the deadliest member of the Legion, is being told to go buy a house and spend her time raising kids and cooking meals. At first, Rikke asked her to accompany them back to the capital, to work as a personal guard of the one and only emperor. It was almost as ridiculous as today’s suggestion. Yeah, trailing after idiotic nobles and listening to their petty politics is a tempting offer. Turns out people who are good at war are completely useless without it.

There’s another thing, too, which she tries harder and harder to ignore but comes to her mind at her most vulnerable.  She gave her heart to a _nordic_ woman, and leaving Skyrim feels like betrayal, like abandonment. It’s not like Trisa has a grave somewhere she could visit and give his laments to. While she was fighting for her life in the war, the only goodbye she received was a single letter from the jarl expressing his condolences with a few miserable coins that ended up thrown into the nearest river. By the time she could get there, it was for nothing. They told her she disappeared one day, and after two months was declared officially dead. No body was ever found, and she had no family left so no one bothered to make a grave. After knowing that, Sua Dris spent a week looking for any signs of her, any plausible reason that would explain why she’s gone. It was really ironic that Reyda’s story would happen again in the same town.

It hurt like nothing she had ever felt, her soul being ripped away from her body. No poison or venom could replicate the helplessness and emptiness that consumed her like a flame eats the candle until there is nothing left but a shapeless image. Hollow.

She was called again to fight, and she went. They won, but still there was no sign of her soul anywhere. Victory tasted like ashes, and her strongest fire couldn’t warm her hands enough to keep the blood pumping. The only thing on her mind was that she should’ve never gotten involved in this war. She should’ve stayed in that small town, working with her, eating with her, sleeping with her... protecting her.

Rikke tries to get her attention again. “Look, I know what you’re suffering now, but killing yourself like this after surviving this far is a waste. You’re destined for greatness, I’m sure of it.”

“You know nothing, so shut up and go away if you’re not going to pay my tab.”

“You know, there was a time when I wanted to get into your bed. I was so fascinated by you... But you seemed, I don’t know, too powerful, too... ha, more divine than human, the Fire Goddess. I felt you’d find me plain for your tastes, so I never asked.” She laughs deprecatingly but her stance is still sure and determined.

“What? I- I never realized.” She’s unsure now, because how could she not notice?

“I’m sneakier than I look, you’d never notice the way I looked at you if I could help it. But now I look at you and all I see is another life worn thinner after each battle. You’re not going to turn into another aimless retired soldier if I’m still here.”

She’s surprised about the confession, sure, but it doesn’t change anything now. It’s too late and she has nothing in her that can be loved again. “Thank god it’s not up to you then.”

“We could try anyway.”

“What?”

“Just the once, and I’d have one less regret when I go. I mean, we could go to your room because it’s closer than my quarters.”

It actually gives her pause, because, it’s not as bad an offer as she first believed. She’s still here, tangible, they know each other deeply, and there won’t be useless feelings after it’s done... Being touched again... is tempting, may very well bring back some warmth into her bones. She’s starved, that much is inarguable. It’s not what she’s missing but it’s close enough it may not matter. When her breasts are being caressed and her body is open to pleasure again. When she can feel another woman’s soft places and bring her to temporary fulfillment. She can breathe life into her while they kiss and maybe, just maybe, she won’t spend the night drinking until she passes out, but embraced by another warm body and having dreamless rest.

In the end it’s not a matter of _want_ , though. “It’s... I would, Rikke, I really would. There is... I want you to stay the same, after everything, I don’t, my own hands are not, are not made for loving right now, not for a long time. They break things, they take, and take. I can’t give you anything, I’m sorry I can’t give you anything you want.” It could be the alcohol making her eyes wet, or it could be the pitying. Regret is a funny thing in that it waits for the thing you want to be unreachable before it shows its importance.

Rikke is older, more experienced in the war, in losing many, many things and keeping only a few, gaining even less. She hugs with so much pressure a shoulder might get dislocated.

“It’s okay. I know you’re strong, not invincible. I’ll be waiting for you no matter how long it takes. When I come back, you’ll still be here and then we can have the wildest fuck this land has ever known, still as friends if you want.”

It’s the most ridiculous thing, even more so when it was _Rikke_ saying it. And it makes a ridiculous amount of hope settle into her like the first rays of sunlight after the longest and coldest night.

 

 

                                                                                                         


	4. Sylvia of Farajal

He hears a soft chuckle right next to his head and turns slowly. Camilla is looking at him with a fond smile that stretches the lines on her face. “You were squinting pretty hard there, is the sun hurting you?”

“A little bit... I am still not used to sleeping in bright places like this one. How are you feeling?”

She smirks suggestively. “I’m perfectly okay. More than okay actually, I missed you.”

A very tired voice muffled by the pillow pipes up suddenly from his other side “You’re too noisy...”

Camilla laughs out loud and tries to reach him to smack him in the arm “Faendal! You had to ruin the moment...”

“Yeah, yeah...” Faendal lifts up his head to look intently at Sylvia while a red mist covers his cheeks. “I missed you too.”

He cannot believe how lucky he is to have these people by his side. Even after everything, he still has this home, this place where he is embraced by the two most perfect people to ever exist. If he ever loses this...It’s the one thing he will never recover from. He must have shown some of his uncertainty on his face because Camilla is tracing his right arm with too gentle kisses. She’s never been turned off by his scars, even after they multiplied in between his absences, and that’s something else extraordinary about her.

Faendal sees where this is going and starts reaching for Sylvia’s head from his side. “I missed touching your pointy ears the most, actually. It’s not every day I can be this close with another _bosmer_ , much less one as handsome as your lovely self.” He starts massaging his ears, strongly pulling in between gentle strokes. Faendal’s face is slender and soft like his own face, handsome in a wild way, but his hands are rough and strong from working in the lumber mill all day.

“This is a really nice arrangement and all, but if we’re not continuing from last night may I suggest not doing that?” Says Sylvia while he tries to manage his breathing into something normal again. It’s been too long since he’s felt touching that wasn’t supposed to hurt, so he’s overwhelmed. But by the gods, “I missed you too like air underwater. When it is again time to... I do not know how I will cope with leaving you again.”

“Well,” Says Faendal, “I was going to suggest staying in bed all day. You know, relaxing, doing fun things... But maybe you want to spend your time here moping instead?”

Camilla frowns at this but turns to him. “Listen, Sylvia, we know you’ll have to go again in a few days, but can’t we just pretend like you’re not? Just until the time comes? I want to... I want to know how it’d be like if the three of us spent every morning like this.”

“I... I’m sorry, I would like that.” The smile on his face is awkward from disuse, but Sylvia has always been more expressive with his words. “If you want, I can make our morning meal?”

Faendal perks up at that. “Yes! You can use whatever you find in here. Camilla and I will be here waiting patiently,” He snuggles up to her from the space previously occupied by Sylvia. “unless you want help.”

“I don’t think so” Says Camilla while she gracefully rejects Faendal’s advance and gets up from the bed. “I’m going to freshen up a bit before eating.”

“How tragic... abandoned by my young and beautiful wife for a dirty bucket of water.”

“The only dirty thing here is your imagination, _dear_.”

Sylvia listens to their bickering while he rummages in his pouch for the right herbs. The cheese and bread are already warming by the fire. Collecting ingredients for his cooking is something he continues to do in every one of his travels. It became one of the things that help him keep sane while he walks miles and miles of this mostly desolate land, alone with his thoughts. The smell of the food attracts Faendal and he slithers from the bed until he’s hugging Sylvia’s back and leaning stronger than necessary on it.

“Faendal? Is something wrong?” There’s concern in there, hidden behind a nonchalant tone.

“Not really... you’re just comfortable, and probably the best fucking cook in the whole of Skyrim. The Gourmet is finished the moment you make something for one of the jarls and it gets to the masses.”

“Is that so? I assume this praise is genuine and has nothing to do with what I’m currently doing for you both.” He says with a barely there smirk.

Faendal feels the conversation shift to teasing and rolls with it masterfully “Your assumptions are correct, as always. I’d never dream of falsely singing your praises as bribery. That’s preposterous!” Sylvia puts the finished meal on the plates and looks at Faendal until he releases his back to let him move. When both of them are sitting in front of the food a loud whine interrupts the short peace. “If she doesn’t come back right now I’m going to faint from hunger.”

“ _She_ is right here,” Says Camilla from the door, entering and closing it as silently as a slow breeze, “and she’d be glad if you fainted and left your portion unprotected. This smells delicious Sylvia.”

“I tried not to use too many spices this time.”

“I still don’t even know where you can get spices in this place. I thought the wild edible herbs that can grow here are few and not very tasty. That’s why Nordic food is so _bland_.”

Camilla swallows hurriedly the food in his mouth “Hey! You take that back right now! You didn’t even know what cheese was until you came here.”

“Well we can’t exactly keep goats or cows in the middle of the forest now, can we? Besides, nut milk tastes way better than milk taken form a stinky animal’s breasts.”

“I buy some spices from the caravans when I encounter them. They have ways of preserving food that were unknown to me.” Sylvia says in hopes of diverting the conversation back into safe territory.

Faendal frowns. “Huh, they hardly stop in small towns so I’ve only traded with them once or twice.”

The conversation continues through their meal, mostly small talk. Sylvia asks about the townspeople, if there is news, and he learns another child died of malnutrition during the winter, and that Delphine disappeared one day and hasn’t been seen since.  They ask about his last travels and he very carefully selects some stories that will spark curiosity and amusement in them instead of fear, worry and more sleepless nights. He tells them about the mud crabs that keep going after him the moment he chooses to swim in the river without his clothes. Tells them about that time a lonely dog followed him for two days until he reached a town and asked someone there to care for it. They laugh until some tears make an appearance on their faces, the atmosphere is lively and welcoming. Everyone on Riverwood noticed Sylvia was back the day before, so they aren’t expecting Camilla and Faendal to work today. Everyone feels like they have to treasure this small piece of happiness, a retrieve, as if it was as delicate as strand of hair. The calm before the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who becomes a reader and please don't read my other work because it's nothing like this. Have a good day, stay determined!


End file.
